


Gimme Gimme

by Prawnperson



Category: Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists! (2012)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, I’ll probably fix these tags later, M/M, Mildly suggestive themes if you squint, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Realisations, Scarf pulls a Sutton Foster, Some other pirate’s are there too but they aren’t named, Temporary Character Death, Valentine’s Day, Yet another scarf fic because he’s fun to write and the captain...isn’t, but it’s very mild, cursing, so it’s like nothing, the captain straight up just goes missing, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prawnperson/pseuds/Prawnperson
Summary: Gimme, gimmeThat thing called loveI see now!Gimme, gimmeThat thing called loveI’m free now!Fly dove, sing sparrow, give me Cupid’s famous arrow!Gimme, gimmeThat thing called love!
Relationships: Pirate Captain/Pirate with a Scarf
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Gimme Gimme

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set during that bizarre interval during the fourth book where the captain literally gets lost at sea for three months, and Scarf is absolutely miserable the entire time. The thing is, the book skips ahead past those three months, which leaves the events that transpire pretty open to interpretation...it’s free real estate

The pirate with a scarf stands on the rocky slope of the St. Helena beach, staring out across the grey skyline, holding his hat onto his head as the dull evening breeze blows and sways the sea grass. The beach is quiet, not even a seagull cawing its lamentations into the sunset, all sounds from the island behind him drowned out by the lapping water. With a wince, he sits rather precariously down, half on the shingles and half on the bed of scraggy grass near the walkway, ankles aching with the strain of standing on slanted rocks for a quarter of an hour. 

The hollow ache in his chest doesn’t leave. It hasn’t left for the past three months, not since the captain went missing, bobbing out to sea like a scrap of driftwood. Even the thought of the ocean makes his stomach lurch, and yet the beach has become his spot of refuge. As much as he loves the crew, and he does, really, spending all of his time with them is somehow even more suffocating off the boat. Perhaps it’s simply the knowledge that he can leave them on their own now. Perhaps it’s the fact they coddle him as though he’s some sort of escaped inpatient. Perhaps it’s the gentle way they try to persuade him that the captain’s gone for good, whenever really, he knows that’s a lie. He will come back. The pirate with a scarf is more certain of that than he’s ever been certain of something before. 

Absentmindedly, the pirate with a scarf finds his thumb rubbing over the smooth surface of one of the pebbles that litter the shoreline. The perfect shape to throw, to skitter satisfyingly across the glassy surface of the water, and an even better shape to toss at the back of the captain’s head and earn himself a series of cutlass slashes. He wonders where the captain is, what he’s doing right now.

He falls back against the grass with a huff.

The hollowness in his chest is now accompanied by a fluttering ache in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t hate this as much, although it is a little rarer. An odd kind of thumping sensation that sets his pulse into the same rhythm. He brings the rock up to look at it for a moment, squinting a little distantly at it, continuing to brush the bad of his thumb across the surface in comforting circles. If it’s held at the right angle, the pebble almost looks like a cartoonish rendering of a heart, two curves only slightly uneven, tapering down into a blunt point. 

For some strange reason that the scarf wearing pirate can’t quite place, the whole thing feels like an important moment. The gentle wind, the scent of the ocean, the ever so distant crunch of footsteps on the pathway around the village green, everything illuminated by the dying light of the sun. The beestings on his arms and chest throb and buzz with pain. He hates this island.

He can’t quite place his finger on it, until he hears the footsteps previously thought to be coming from the village green grow louder. Curious, he shuffles below the slope of the hill, hiding himself from view. Above him, he voice of Jennifer sounds out distinctly.

“Where is he, even?”

Another voice chimes in, not quite recognisable but still clearly one of the crew.

“Still mooning over the captain, I bet. Probably moping about in his room.” 

“How would you know?”

“Oh, come off it. When isn’t he?”

“He’s sad, leave him be.”

“Still, you’d think he’d be over it by now. It’s bats in the belfry territory at this point.”

The pirate with a scarf grips at the pebble, lips pursing together, trying his very best not to let out an indignant stutter as he so desperately wants to do.

“He misses the captain! That’s all. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do, that doesn’t mean I’m acting like his widower, does it?”

Yet another voice chimes in, this time younger and softer. 

“Wait, were they not married?”

“No, just...very good friends. At least, I think so...”

“Who bloody knew with those two?”

“He’s not even gay.”

“But he helps them out when they’re busy.”

“Look, enough of this. Let’s just go get some mushrooms, alright?”

And, with very little argument, the steps begin to move in the other direction, clicking heels fading into the distance, now lost to the increasing strength of the waves. The pirate with a scarf catches himself with his mouth hanging open and promptly shuts it in favour of chewing on his lip, the hand that isn’t circling over the stone coming up to fumble with the tassels on his scarf.

Has he really been acting like a widow? That seems a little bit of an exaggeration, to say the least. Then again, it might explain a lot. The past eleven weeks of misery, the fluttering ache in his stomach whenever he thinks about the captain, the dreams...

The pirate with a scarf sits bolt upright and chucks the stone into the sea grass with a swing.

“Bollocks!”

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in the summary and title are from the song of the same name in the Thoroughly Modern Millie musical. It reminds me a lot of scarf for some reason.


End file.
